


A Whole World Between

by IsViciousMotivator



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Human Shelock, John wants to hit something, Mary finds it all amusing, Maybe Mutant Sherlock, Molly keeps even more secrets, Moriarty wants to end the British Government, Mutant Molly, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft keeps many secrets, Sherlolly - Freeform, dead brothers, family drama in middle of mutant-human war, guess who has what powers before I post it, last but never the least, not so dead brothers, some are humans, some are mutants, who will you support
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsViciousMotivator/pseuds/IsViciousMotivator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mutant-Human War has reached its tipping point and one side will have to perish. The lines are drawn, but are they really clear for Sherlock and Molly. A Sherlolly Mutant AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction purely for the purpose of entertainment. I own nothing. The characters of Sherlock are property of people much greater than me.

Chapter 1.

Ever since he was a little boy, Sherlock knew that his big brother was a liar. He always said that caring is not an advantage, but time and again he failed to follow his own advice. Mycroft has always cared. About their parents, his younger brothers, his nation, and now the human race. The human race that didn't have the X-gene, that is. Sure some people may argue that it was his hunger for power ("Stupid bloody power complex" as said by John.) that made his entry into the affairs of government seem like a logical move. However Sherlock knew better. If it was as simple as gaining power then it would have been far more satisfying being a criminal mastermind. After all getting away is so much more fun than fixing things. And Mycroft loved fixing. Fixing their parents' comfortable retirement, fixing his brother's sobriety, even fixing the world on the verge of cataclysm. Although it wasn't some naive saccharine notion (His brother is far too smart for that), but Mycroft was hell bent on doing his part in making this rotting world a better place.

The first cracks appeared when the United States of America started to enforce the Mutant Registration Act on a worldwide level, which immediately followed a violent backlash by the mutant communities everywhere. For a while it seemed wise to not poke that particular beast. Many countries even then were purposefully too ignorant and chose to believe that their invisible mutant population was negligible enough to be left alone. That was until a trigger happy American colonel ruined everything. His giant telepathic contraption exposed every single mutant on the planet. For scant minutes each, the humans and mutants knew nothing but pain. Both factions felt the same intensity, the same helplessness, the same screams Afterwards it seemed as if a blanket of stillness had descended upon the world.

But soon everyone realised the truth. Anyone who suffered the First Wave was a mutant. In offices, in universities, in government buildings, in playgrounds, in peoples' homes. Everywhere. Friends, spouses, neighbours, colleagues, strangers, fathers, daughters, mothers, even brothers. Everyone. The world had changed, and the ties of the old world were broken. It was much more basic now. Us and them. Them and us. The nations lost their identity. The governments had no basis. Ministers, presidents, judges. Mutants were everywhere. No one could say which was more scary, that they had managed to be so indiscernible or that they have access to nuclear launch codes.

Conclusion, pure pandemonium.

Afterwards there was so much running. Away from each other, after each other. The world had to change its face for the next five years over and over before a shoddy version of detente was finally reached. On the the surface that is. There were several zones designated for humans and mutants, which had initially started out as refugee centres amidst the bloodshed. But were in reality rapidly growing power hubs for both sides. Some being more powerful than others. In England, on the outskirts of what used to be London, the most powerful human zone on this side of the Atlantic was under the command of Mycroft Holmes, no longer having a minor position in the British government but being the British government in its entirety. As Sherlock had been saying all along. And on the other side of Isle of Man, in Ireland was the most powerful mutant zone, under the command of a mutant named James Moriarty.

Years before the Waves hit, Moriarty was already a name whispered in fear even by the underbelly of the international criminal world. And afterwards his sadistic influence only seemed to grow leaps and bounds. No one has been able to get close to him, no one ever does. And those who tried were never heard from again. Even finding any information about his past seemed like impossible. Not surprising, since his brother insists on hiring absolute idiots. Perhaps their presence makes the fatty feel smarter.

But it seems that even the idiots had managed to find something after all this time, since he was brought in. Mycroft knows better than to drag his little brother in goverment matters, unless it's not boring.

And Moriarty is never boring. Or so he hears.

The flow of good quality cases was very bleak. Before the Waves Sherlock would work with the NSY on a consulting basis, but nowadays with humans cowering in fear and anticipation for the other shoe to drop, petty theft was as good as it got. It seemed that the only better class of criminals were on a different island altogether. And if he were truly lucky, he might just get to meet them.

After he gets Mycroft to beg of course. Can't make things too simple for big brother.

However the eldest of the Holmes boys knew his brother too well and was definitely not going to give him the satisfaction. Which is how the good doctor found the brothers when he finally managed to join them. He was meant to come with Sherlock but his duties as a doctor called him away. As you see, desperate times means overworked doctors. He was completely spent and he didn't regret missing the theatrics that followed anyone whose last name was Holmes. Upon entering the office he found that today's special was silent stares and snarky smirks.

"Seriously you two can give any high school mean girl a run for their money." John muttered to himself.

"Well Sherlock, now that your wrangler is here perhaps now you can stop being a child and we could begin."

John wondered why he bothered to come anyway.

"I wasn't waiting for John, big brother. I was only waiting for your stomach to stop digesting the biscuits that you hide in your drawer-"

When he heard the word 'biscuit' John saw the tea kettle between the drama queens and remembered that Mycroft's office was perhaps one of the last place in England to still have proper tea. Which more than made up for any tantrum these two could throw. Almost.

"-But you're right let's begin by you using the elocutions that you needed as a child because mummy was worried you were developing a lisp."

At that moment, looking upon Mycroft's face, John was sure that the Sahara desert could have frozen over. "I only needed those dreadful lessons because you somehow found a way to rub numbing cream on my lips.. The problem was that I just couldn't prove how you did it."

"And yet you have the audacity to call yourself the smarter brother." Mumbled Sherlock.

But whatever clever (or childish, depending on who is telling the story) remark that was about to sprout out of Mycroft's no longer numb lips was never to be heard. As John couldn't take it anymore and demanded that the reason for their summons be explained quickly as possible. Or the very least order a fresh pot of tea. Because desperate times also means no telly, and John Watson was a soap opera addict in need of a fix (Thank you Mrs. Hudson). However too much Holmesian drama makes Johnny want to rip his last non-gray hairs out.

"The reason I had both of you brought here was because after all this time we finally have a way to get Moriarty."

At that moment, looking upon Sherlock's face, John was sure that the Wicked Witch and the Big Bad Wolf would need to take ominous predatory smirking lessons from his best friend. "Excellent. Finally something worthy." Up jumped the consulting detective from his chair and did his little happy pouncey dance across the room. 'Oh he hasn't done the happy pouncey dance in such a long time. Last time he did that it was because of a locked door triple homicide case' Though he would never really say that to his face. John still shudders thinking about the conditions of his jumpers when he mentioned the collar flip for cool effect thing.

"We'll take the case. John and I will leave at the crack of dawn. I assume you've already made the arrangements."

"But of course Sherlock. I'm not the British government for nothing."

"Sorry. Hold on a minute. Excuse me. Sorry. Wha- Wait. What? No, where? Where exactly are you sending the two of us."

Cue the customary Holmes eye-roll. At times like these John really regrets leaving his gun and only bringing his bag from work.

"Goldfish" sighed the brothers in a sudden bout of camaraderie.

Although he was pretty sure that he could choke at least one of them with his stethoscope.

"Oh come on John. Isn't it obvious? We are going to Ireland and infiltrate Moriarty's base." John could sense all of the blood drain from his face. "Why are you making that face? An adrenaline junkie like you should be happy that you can finally break the mediocrity."

"Mediocrity? Are you insane? Oh god, Sherlock. There's adventure seeking and then there's suicide mission. Unless you're a mutant, you can't set foot on Ireland. And last I checked neither you nor I are mutants mate." He ran his hands through his hair. A classic reaction when dealing with the git. 'Goodbye my last non-gray hair.' "So tell me how are we going to infiltrate something when we will most likely be murdered long before that? Or did you find a way back from the astral plain and thought that we can accomplish that as ghosts, eh?" But he received no reply from his friend, as he seems to have already departed without even a swish of the coat, as John found out when he finally lowered his hand. The git.

"He's probably gone to make preparations for the mission. So should you as you'll be leaving in less than eight hours. As for the answer to your question, you'll be able to do all that while still retaining all your mortal coil because we have a mutant on the inside, who has been feeding us information for the past year." He pointed at the heavy dossier lying on the table. "My brother already left with his. I suggest you try to memorise as much as you can in the time being." Even the very apparent dismissal was not going to deter the soldier.

"No. That's impossible"

"What is impossible John?" asked an already distracted Mycroft, who was now going over some files that Anthea had presented before him. Seriously how does the woman do that? If John didn't know Mycroft's aversion to anything mutant, he would have said that Anthea was a teleporter.

"What is impossible that you couldn't possibly have 'a mutant on the inside'" His imitation of Mycroft's posh accent might actually have been good, as he would swear that Anthea smiled just a fraction. Which anyone who knows her, is really a lot in context of the super secretary. "Because A. You would never work with mutants. And B. No mutant would betray their own kind."

Mycroft smiled after hearing that. He might have meant it to be a soothing and encouraging one, but it only managed to do more damage to John's already fragile nerves. "Very good John. I knew I was right in choosing you over a team of agents to accompany my brother in this mission. Because you are absolutely right. But A. The only way we were ever getting in Ireland was with the help of a mutant so I had to compromise. And B. Of course no natural born mutant would help us even under the threat of torture. Believe me when I say that all methods and ideas were long exhausted before we reached the simple solution. We simply cooked up a mutant for our use. She's the one who has collected all the information and will also help you in Ireland."

"I don't understand."

The soothing smile disappeared again. Not that John was going to miss it. And the normal condescending look was back.

"It's all in there" Pointing towards the dossier again. "Just take it and you'll understand everything."

"I still don't understand what we'll be doing over there."

Mycroft only let out a sigh as if he held the burdens of the entire world on his shoulders. Which was actually true in a way. "My brother is going to get close with the high players like Moriarty and your job is what it always has been. Making sure that he doesn't get in over his head and if he does you'll make sure that he makes his way back home. In one piece mind you."

"Brilliant. And how do you think he'll be able to do that? Or can any random person off the street can get close to this Moriarty and his council of mutant evilness? Or even better. How about the fact that he is not a mutant. Don't you think that the council of mutant evilness will test that out the first chance they get, hmm?"

"Well of course not any random person can do that. But you forget that Sherlock Holmes can't possibly be random. How he manages to do that is up to him. As far as the matter of mutant powers goes, while my brother may not be a mutant, he'll be able to get in close with them because he does have the X-gene. Now good day and bon voyage John."


	2. Chapter 2

"How can you have the X-Gene and not be a mutant?"

"Really John? You've asked the same question at least ten times now. You do realise that you could have been better utilising this entire time by studying the files Mycroft gave us?"

Now that his friend had mentioned it, John had to admit that he barely glanced at the pages. He really should start memorising the damn thing cover to cover, considering the fact that they would soon be on their way to meet the operative, whom Mycroft somehow had bestowed with mutant powers. But Sherlock being in possession of the X-Gene had shocked the good doctor to the core. The Holmes brothers had managed to turn his world upside-down, once again. Before this evening the world was a simple place for John. If you had the X-Gene, you were a mutant and if you didn't have it, you were simply not one. See, simple, precise, logical. But now you could have the gene and not be a mutant, and more importantly even if you didn't have the bleeding gene, you can still get superhuman powers. Even better, you can have them customised to your needs.

To say it as Sherlock would; conclusion, pure pandemonium.

His head was killing him and they hadn't even left Baker Street yet.

"Oh try to relax John. Your face looks like it's about to explode." He said while straightening up from his iconic leather chair. "As I have said repeatedly to you since we left my brother's place, yes, I do have the notorious X-Gene, which is the basic marker between being mutant or otherwise. But, no, I do not neither have I ever had any powers whatsoever. It was simply an oversight by mother nature, where though the gene is clearly detectable in me when tested for, but there are no powers to actually make me a mutant. Which is precisely what makes me the perfect asset to infiltrate Moriarty's realm of terror. I am not a mutant, but they wont suspect anything because I do in fact have the gene." The consulting detective let go a sigh of great accomplishment and sunk back in his seat to enter his mind palace once again, as if he had just successfully explained Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation to a toddler. "And also the fact that I am the only one with the intellectual capacity to do so." To a toddler in ancient Sumerian, that is.

John decided to simply let go of the matter of what is and isn't inside Sherlock's DNA, if only to drown out the smugness. He turned his attention towards the thick dossiers laying on the small table between the two friends in the living room of their shared flat. He really ought to read them. He picked up his bundle, while Sherlock had already dismantled every last piece of paper and had them strung or stuck, depending on what was important and which area on the rapidly shrinking wallpaper was still clear enough to hold something. Sherlock was in absolute case-mode, where he chased every tiny bit of information with his trademark frantic yet focused energy. All the while seemingly buzzing with electricity, he observed and absorbed everything until he was ready to step into his mind palace, to determine what was to be retained and what could be deleted forever as irrelevant.

He still remembers the first time meeting Sherlock, just a few months before the Waves hit, and being warned by him about how he doesn't speak on some days and on others just plays the violin. At first he dismissed them as exaggerations, like how someone might tweak their resumes. But not Sherlock, he has always been literal.

"Oh for the love of god, John. Just start reading the damn thing. Although it would hardly make a difference since you won't be doing much. My brother is sending you solely as a glorified babysitter for me. Why, I don't know. They are mutants, not drug dealers."

Too annoyingly literal sometimes.

"Funny how you say that they aren't drug dealers, but don't say that you aren't an addict any more." He said with a smirk, feeling rather proud to come up with something like that. "And that is exactly why I need to go with you." His remarks only earned him hard cold glare from his flatmate that would have put any ice glacier to shame. Which promptly made John grab the files in front of him. He had only flipped the first page when he said, "It's just that I don't think I've come across such a case where a person has the X-Gene and not only doesn't he manifest any powers but also that he is the only one in family to have it in the first place. While not necessarily passing from parent to offspring, it it knows to skip alternate generations."

Sherlock probably decided his best friend really had nothing useful to say and turned back to his own files, since John really seemed like he wasn't going to be reading his. Not that he blamed him since no doubt Mycroft didn't want to scare them too badly and risk them rejecting the mission, so heavy censor was employed by big brother.

However John Watson really was the only best friend that Sherlock Holmes had, which is why he easily noticed that Sherlock turned away rather quickly. Too quickly. The epiphany made him drop the file to his lap, from where it glided down his legs and landed on the floor. "Oh my god. You're not the only mutant in your family. Or at least not the only one with X-Gene. Am I right?"

"Yes." came the reply from behind the file.

John sensed his jaw dropping as far as it could go. He knew it must have since he realised that his tongue was rapidly drying out after coming in contact with the air, but he couldn't be completely sure, as his whole body had pretty much went numb. How many secrets were the Holmes brothers going to drop on him? Did Mycroft want to kill him with hi-

"Wait. Before we go any further. It's not Mycroft, is it? I mean, it just can't be. He has pretty much taken up the mantle of defending the human race from the mutants, so he really can't be one. Right? Of course right. But this certainly fits his obsessive need to control everything. I mean if he was a mutant, chances are that he is secretly controlling the mutants as well and-"

"And what, John?" Sherlock's file too joined its counterpart on the floor, when its reader flung it aside in exasperation. "Are you really suggesting that my brother is somehow the hidden power behind both factions in this yet another pointless war? While truly having an obsessive need to have power over everything with a pulse as well as having a formidable intellect, I highly doubt even Mycroft would be able to play for both teams in such a manner. So no, my eldest brother is not a mutant. It was the other one, the dead one that was the mutant. Coffee?" With that he got up and headed to the kitchen to begin, not preparing the coffee, but banging the rarely used pots and pans that he could find. This was one of his oldest gambits, create enough noise and Mrs. Hudson would appear with freshly brewed dark liquid for all three of them.

"Woo Hoo." Their landlady appeared with a tray of steaming coffee, and the balance of the universe was restored. Because heaven help them all if Sherlock actually did anything remotely domestic, even something as plebeian as sustenance. "I really wish you wouldn't create such a ruckus, do think about the neighbours. Now I'm not your housekeeper, but since both of you boys have to leave so suddenly for this top secret mission in Ireland under Mycroft's strict orders, I'm going to do it just this once, alright?" She said, all the while puttering towards the kitchen table to put down the heavy tray. "Which reminds me, I've brought my last packet of chocolate digestives as well. I really was trying to be stingy with them, since there's no guarantee that they'll always be available in the rations. But you two will soon be on your way to fight those dreadful mutants in this silly tight-lipped undercover mission. So I thought you could do with something a bit more cheerful than just coffee."

"And how right you were, Mrs. Hudson." He said, as he was grabbing his cup and biscuit from her. "And don't worry about running out of anything. I have many anecdotes about the fears and humiliations from Mycroft's childhood to ensure that you'll never run out of anything. At your age you are obligated to indulge." After kissing his pseudo-mother on the cheek he moved towards the wall, to go through the information stuck on it once again. But Mrs. Hudson knew better. Sherlock only turned away to hide his presumably red cheeks. You see, things had become a bit too sentimental for him and the darling boy needed a breather. And Martha most certainly didn't mind.

All this while John sat in his chair, silent as the grave. Sherlock had another brother. A dead brother. A dead brother who was mutant. Why was he hearing about this only now? And wait a minute. Why did Mrs. Hudson-

"Why does Mrs. Hudson know about our confidential dangerous mission?"

Without turning around from the wall and without stopping chewing the baked good, Sherlock said, "Try to think it over. She knows because I told her. After all, if she didn't know where we were going, how else would she know what she has to pack in my bags for me?" John contemplated how hard would he have to hit Sherlock in the head with Billy the Skull, until the either one of the skull cracked. "It wouldn't be a fair match, John. do think about it. After all Billy died a long time ago and has been exposed to the elements all this while. I, on the other hand, have a healthy living skull. So even if you use extreme force, I'll still outlast him."

John didn't even bother asking how the consulting detective knew exactly what was on his mind, he knew better by now . Instead he got up and went into the kitchen to get his cup of coffee from Mrs. Hudson, because she really wasn't their bloody housekeeper. He was savouring what probably would be his last biscuit for a very long time. He turned towards their landlady, who was busy putting back all the abused utensils to rightful place and called after her to get her attention. He looked back towards the living room and was relieved to see that their conversation would have no eavesdroppers, since Sherlock was lying flat on the couch, safely ensconced in his mind palace.

"Did you know that Sherlock had another brother besides Mycroft?"

"Oh yes, Sherringford." This piqued John's curiosity even more, he wanter to know more, and not just because of the unusual trio of English names. "He never actually talked about him to me. I don't even think either him or Mycroft talk about him that much, to each other or anyone in fact. His death was a shock for both of them. I know about it because I was there when Sherlock got the news. It was during my husband's execution trial, you see. Throughout the entire case he was so cold and distant, and sure you had to be, I guess, since the things my husband did were not for the soft-hearted, mind you. But he was a whole new category of his own. I had myself half convinced that he was truly heartless. Almost swore that I would have nothing to do what him after it was all over, and suddenly he gets a call about his brother….. In one single moment, he became less him. Just whispered 'My brother's dead' when I asked him what was wrong. He sounded so broken. And most definitely not heartless, let me tell."

"When was all this?"

"Now let me think. Sometimes I feel like my memory is going down the same path as my hips. I'm sure all this happened slightly more than a year before he met you."

John did a quick calculation in head, "So probably a year, year and a half before the Waves hit?"

Mrs. Hudson could only nod, as at that moment a knock could be heard at the front door, and had to rush down to see who it was.

And whoever it was certainly interested Sherlock very much, as he came out of his mind palace and got up to greet their visitor. His smile grew, as they both could begin to make out the sound of feet climbing the stairs to 221B Baker Street.

"Sherlock, who is it?"

"Someone who worked very hard to compile all the information in the files that you have repeatedly failed to read throughout this evening." And then he saw his flatmate move towards door, to open for mutant that Mycroft 'cooked up' to use.


	3. Chapter 3

A Whole World Between   
Chapter 3

It did’t take long for their mysterious guest to ascend the stairs, after being let in by Mrs. Hudson. Until the only barrier separating them was the door to the flat. And even that was done away with when Sherlock opened the door to let in Mycroft’s agent. The endearingly so named - ‘cooked-up’ mutant - was a she. And she gave one glance to Sherlock’s great wall of evidence and turned to face them.

“It’s good that both of you have studied the files. Thoroughly it seems.” She turned towards the wall once more to give an approving glance at it. 

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn't we? Particularly when it’s author was so articulate. I could barely manage to put it down.” said John as he gradually moved towards her, using a tone, which his genius friend was altogether familiar with as well as utterly annoyed by. However it seemed to have the desired effect, as now there was just a tinge of pinkness on the agent’s cheek. All the while trying to hide the effect John’s charms were having on her, she turned towards Sherlock and asked, “He’s fibbing, isn’t he?”

“Disgustingly so.” replied the deep baritone.

“Now, hang on.” came from a browned off John. “How could you even know that?”

“I work for Mycroft.” came her confident and quick reply as if it explained everything. And strangely enough it really did. “However I will admit, the flattery wasn’t entirely unappreciated.” And the pinkness had now evolved into a blooming redness in the cheeks.

John apparently took this as a sign that he could go back using his charm again, although Sherlock couldn't figure out how that worked. “Well, that’s good to know Ms. …..Um…..”

“Oh right, of course I didn’t introduce myself. I am-“

She was interrupted by the annoyed huff from the consulting detective. “Brilliant.” He droned out sarcastically. “Everyone’s saying their names.” He moved towards the door to loudly bang it close, which had been left ajar when Mycroft’s agent had come in. All this theatrics only resulted in John scolding him to behave or very least not be too much of a git. 

But his words could very well have been meant for the mismatched paper-covered walls, as his friend ignored the other two only to leap back in his chair. The display only reinforced John’s long-standing belief that only Sherlock could throw a tantrum like a five-year-old and yet do it with the grace of a leaping gazelle. That analogy always brought some measure of happiness to John as fancied himself to be a lion.   
He then turned back towards her and suggested that they make one more attempt to know each others’ names. 

“So as I was saying, my name is Mary Morstan.” 

ooo

Soon enough the crime solving duo and the blonde mutant were seated around the fireplace, in their respective seats. After the Waves hit and the world was plunged into a state of panic and helplessness, many of the basic amenities were stripped away. Things like food, shelter, and warmth were no longer easily available, and had evolved into motives for manslaughter. Which is why the quasi-governments in different parts of the globe that had emerged to rapidly fill the monumental power vacuums, had to first guarantee the security of the divided population and establish monopolies over resources. And for this very reason people like Mycroft had no problem taking charge, because if the the idea of fighting someone with your bare hands for scraps was a terrifying notion, imagine fighting someone with superhuman powers. Rather than questioning them, the human race simply allowed people like Mycroft all around the world to take over. And things weren’t all that bad nowadays. They regularly got food and other rations, and lived in an environment which was a poor but a comfortable enough imitation of what they had earlier. In return if it meant that they had to ignore the thunder of boots breaking into the residents of their neighbours and turn deaf to muffled, and sometimes agonising, pleas and shouts slowly fading far into the night, then so be it. And why blame them, ultimately wouldn’t you do the same thing? Aren’t the mutants doing the same thing? Or will you betray your own kind and become a mutant-sympathiser?

Sherlock broke the silence by asking Mary why she decided to come to their flat and not meet them at the rendezvous point, which was the original plan. 

“There’s been a change in the transport arrangements” came her prompt reply, as if she was prepared for the questions. “The earlier plan is no longer feasible.” Finally feeling a bit chastened, John inquired about the plans in the previously ignored files. However surprisingly, or not so surprisingly since millions of years of evolution and rampant hormones had trained these two to act a certain way, Mary only seemed to find his behaviour devastatingly charming. Which expeditiously made Sherlock roll his eyes. “Earlier you both were supposed to fly to Calais and catch one of the boats leaving for Ireland. Every other week a couple of such vessels leave the main continent packed with mutants in order to flee the human-formed governments. The two of you were simply supposed to blend in and sail away. But today, all of a sudden all boats were diverted and basically the Four Monarchs gave the orders to cease all physical entry into Ireland.” Mary sensed the question that Sherlock was about to ask and continued, “I don't think it’s because they suspect anything, otherwise they would have restricted any entry all together. I think they simply thought to introduce a new system for a while. And now the mutants have to utilise the other options available to them.”

“What other methods are there?” asked a mystified John.

“Teleportation.” 

This seemed to have intrigued the consulting detective immensely. “Which is why you came to us. You’re a teleporter.”

“Among several other things.” Mary’s delightful reply was only matched by John’s delightful observation of her dimpled cheeks. Although by now he truly was regretting not reading the files, or even glancing at Sherlock’s wall of evidence to stow away even the simplest of the information, in view of the fact he was truly feeling left out. Give the man some action and violence and he will flourish, give him paperwork and watch him flounder. “What’s the ‘Four Monarchs’?”

“That’s what Moriarty and the other three leader mutants have nicknamed themselves. Though I suspect it was only to piss off Mycroft, with his whole in service of queen and country spiel. The only way they could get even more pompous was to name themselves ‘Club of Hellfire’ or something. Let me show you.” She stood up and moved towards the wall of evidence, which also contained several photographs. she looked around for the relevant ones for a time, and after finding them turned towards Sherlock and John once more, “So there are four extremely powerful Class Four mutants who control all the workings and dealings of each and every mutant and human currently living in Ireland. But we reckon their sphere of influence is present all over the world in one form or another.”

Sensing that his friend was about to interrupt with a question, even when the answer was easily understood through implication alone, however he didn’t point it out since that would be ‘a bit not good’. “A mutant and their powers are classified into different classes, with Class One mutant being the weakest and increasing so on and so forth. However even a Class One would be able to inflict substantial damage to humans. And Class Four mutant is the most powerful realistic mutant.”

Mary picked up the discourse, “There is another class even more powerful than a Class Four mutant, that is a Class Five. Although this entire category is more of a hypothetical situation. However if a Class Five did in fact exist, the sheer power held by just this one mutant would be able to destroy all of humanity. And all the mutants.”

“But they don’t exist.” said Sherlock. “They are completely a hypothetical construct. As I said Class Four mutant is the most powerful realistic mutant.”

“But if the Class Fives are truly that powerful obviously they would be able to evade capture and detection.” John added.

Mary decided that their little segue was no longer little anymore and tried to reign both the men back in the conversation lest they steep into some friendly-yet-somewhat-dangerous-but-absolutely-ridiculous display of male bravado. Which just happened to be every type of display of male bravado. “If a Class Five does exist even the mutants themselves don’t know about it, otherwise why would they miss out on a chance to unleash it upon the humans. For now it’s these four Class Four mutants who will be your target and the ones to whom you be should be paying attention. First and foremost we have James Moriarty, a.k.a. the Black King. He is incharge of the defence, weaponry, infrastructure.” she pointed towards the monochromatic photograph of the man on the wall. John had to move a bit closer to get a better view. At first glance it seemed impossible to believe that such a slip of a man could give even Mycroft nightmares. But if even half of the rumours that found their way into the human communities were to be believed, then obviously there seems to be much more to this man than what meets the eye. And the more John stared at the man the emptier his eyes appeared to be. The word soulless kept leaping to his mind, he turned away from the wall, not only to do away with tension coiling inside of him like a snake but also to see if his friend was experiencing the same effect. 

However, Sherlock had deemed the conversation to be unnecessary, as he had already memorised everything there was to learn from the files and had gone back into his mind palace, and negating to watch the other two make googly eyes at each other was an added bonus. “His mutation seems to be absorption, collection and expulsion of energy. Extremely large amounts of energy. We can hit him with anything we have - bullets, grenades, missiles, even nukes, but he will simply absorb the energy of the impact as well as that of the weapon and would be able to release it with even greater force back at us. The storing of all that energy also enables him to regenerate any damage done to him. Basically indestructible. And that’s not even the scariest part.”

“What the hell is it then?”

“He is certifiably insane. Even before the Waves hit his genius for cruelty was something that scared nearly every government. But the man is clever enough to never get his hands dirty. No one ever even got close. After the Waves it soon became common knowledge that he was a mutant, a fact that even took the British government by surprise.”

This astounded John, but taking into account how many new things he had learned today about the Holmes boys, he wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. And while he still had several questions on that subject he knew there were bigger problems at hand. “So how did the Napoleon of Crime became the face of mutant welfare?” He could see on Mary’s face that his knowledge of Moriarty’s newspaper given nickname impressed her. “I did read the newspapers. When they were still being printed that is.”

“Well, he didn’t start off as that. Initially Moriarty was only interested in rallying the mutants up, in order to do what he had always done. Wreck havoc on everyone and everything. And let’s face it, he didn’t have to try that hard to convince mutants to attack us. Especially if the target was Mycroft, considering how many labs that man had up and running. However the main reason Ireland is now considered to be a haven for anyone with X-gene is because of another mutant who grouped up with Moriarty less than four years ago.” Mary turned around to face the wall once again and pointed out another photograph, this time in colour. Only this time it was of a woman. She was demure in stature and seemed to be pointing towards something away from the camera with her gloved hands, which was confusing as it was evident that is was a sunny warm day. She even appeared to be sweating a little. John could make out that she had brown hair that seemed almost fiery golden in the strong sunlight and had chocolate brown eyes with a dash of honey. His own silent observations befuddled John. On one hand, just the image of Moriarty had introduced such feeling of dread and foreboding in him, and on another hand his co-monarch (who presumably is also a threat to continued existence of humans) derived feeling of….. actually no so bad things? Wow, no wonder Sherlock keeps telling him to shut up.

“Who is she, then?”

“Dr. Molly Hooper, a.k.a the Purple Queen. She handles the welfare of the mutants, that includes living arrangements, food, medical aid and everything else in between.”

“Why the gloves?”

“Because of her mutation. With a single contact of her skin she can drain a person of their energy and if the contact isn’t broken she can suck out their entire life force. When she touches a mutant then along with their energy she also absorbs their powers. And don’t let her size fool you. While Moriarty hates getting his hands dirty, she can and has been single-handedly taking down more of our men than we can keep count of.” 

“Almost sounds as if you admire her.”

Brushing off John’s comment she continued “It would be foolish to undermine her ability and influence. Out of all the Monarchs, she was the only one that Moriarty had to personally invite to join them. In my research I found that he initially wanted her to adopt a more aggressive position, like training or defence. Instead she chose a comparatively benign role. Or rather a seemingly benign role as a glorified nanny for the mutants under their protection.”

“But that was just logical choice. You said she’s a doctor didn’t you?”

A derisive snort from behind reminded John that he and Mary weren’t alone. Although when he turned around, Sherlock had once again gone back in his mind palace. 

“Think of it this way” Mary continued on as if the nothing happened. “When a mutant or even their child is sick, the mutants go to her. When they are hungry, the mutants go to her. When they need protection from the elements and a roof on their heads,-  
“The mutants go to her. So while all four of the Monarchs command power among the mutants, she alone is the one with a much more personal accord with them.”

“Not to mention she is only top tier mutant who had been in Mycroft’s lab.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed towards the photo and asked him him to look at her let collarbone. John couldn’t clearly see but he could make out that in the hollow just above the bone there was a series a number tattooed on her. 

“When the Waves hit and nearly every mutant got exposed, thousands were captured and sent to laboratories across the globe ran by the government. These labs had been in existence since the Second World War, and had been operating in utter secrecy afraid of the backlash. But once everyone realised how many mutants there were, people almost encouraged and praised their governments to take severe measures. 

Unfortunately for Molly, she was one of the earliest mutants to be captured. She was there for eight months, when she escaped. But not before killing everyone over there. Human and mutant alike. As I said earlier don’t let her size fool you.

“Then we have the Grey King, Charles Augustus Magnussen.” 

“The newspaper guy.” After seeing the picture John had immediately recognised the man. 

“Yes. His powers seems to be magnetism, though not strictly restricted to metal with magnetic characteristics only. He can control and manipulate any metal simply by a thought. Another reason why our weapons will be next to useless when fighting them, he can simply turn them around and kill all of us.”

“That is …..terrifying.”

“Many people question why the human governments don’t just unleash the nuclear arsenal at them, but as you can see, it would be - “

“Even worse than mutually assured destruction, since the mutants, at least when it comes to all out war have the upper hand. Putting that frightening thought aside for a moment, what is the Grey King incharge of?”

“Communication, maintenance of records, transportation of mutants as well as supplies. While the Four Monarchs have made Ireland their base of operations, they have expanded their network to nearly all corners of the world. Any mutant on the run knows that in order to be safe from capture by the government agents they need to get to Ireland. After arrival they and their abilities are examined and then are classified as per the categories. Then as soon as their health permits are put in training. Some are trained in Ireland itself while some are shipped off to other parts of the world. The type of work they get assigned depends on their powers and the intensity of it. Class Four are usually out in the defence and rescue work, and maybe some of the really powerful Class Three, who have aggressive powers. While the others are divided into other miscellaneous jobs like construction, transport, administrative work, and most importantly farming. The mutants generate enough grains that they don’t have to worry about getting hungry for the next decade.”

“How is that possible? Even with most of there human population involved, we keep losing our crops.”

“Well it helps that they have mutants who can not only control the weather but also ones who can accelerate plant growth. Which means they can in a matter of days have a bountiful harvest that they grew in some cave or something. While they can start a fire in our fields or simply send a storm our way and leave us with nothing. The mutant incharge of the training and working of the mutants is the Red Queen, Irene Adler.” Pointing towards the most beautiful woman John had ever seen in his life.   
His ogling and drooling may have been a little too obvious as Mary also added, in a much more stiffer tone than before, “It’s not that difficult to look like that when one’s powers are metamorphosis. She can literally change into anyone, male or female, anytime she wants, simply by a snap of fingers. You, me or even Mycroft. Though I’m not sure how to feel if it were to actually be true, that there’s a woman living inside of him.” She tried looking around the wall trying to search of something, while John was still trying to digest all the new information simultaneously trying to curb the ever increasing urge to crawl under a blanket and assuming the foetal position.

“You seem to be missing a picture of her true form. Good thing I brought my own notes as well .” She headed towards her bag that she had brought in with her and began to rummage about. The prospect of getting his hands on additional new information brought Sherlock back to the land of the living, or the very least, land of regular people without a mind palace.

Mary finally managed to find that illusive picture and handed it over to the men. This was a colour photo of the same woman though John would not believe it. 

“Are those scales?” asked Sherlock.

“Is she naked?” asked John.

The blonde agent could only sigh and mull over how if someone were to take a photo of this very moment the caption would read ‘there are two types of men in the world’.

“Yes, those are scales and yes, she is naked, because when she changes into someone else she can also give the appearance of their clothes too. So it would be very awkward if she has her clothes over the clothes of the person has changed into now wouldn’t it? And no Sherlock this wasn’t a mistake by Mycroft’s people as I think your brother planned this to happen deliberately. Simply in order to intrigue you, because Adler is your target. Guess she’s not the only one who can’t resist a pretty face.”

**Author's Note:**

> So as you might have guessed, this story is inspired by the events of X2 movie, particularly what happens after, if things went to shit that is. However this is not a crossover as no characters from the movie or comics will be seen. And I don't claim any right over them either. But some of the Sherlock characters will have powers based on some of the X-Men characters. And that is when the fun begins.


End file.
